Rose
His weary heart
brought him
breath by laboured breath
to my garden gate.
I was pruning the climbing rose
so it must have been February time.
“ I was wrong” he said
“wrong” he repeated
on one clean crisp lop.
The thorny stem hit the path, skipping slightly, then landed between his dusty, tan brogues.
Our eyes met.
Decades kaleidoscoped.
He turned away.
He walked away.
Away from my garden gate.
He walked with a shuffle now.
Another lop gnashed for rage.
Another gnawed the shame away.
Shuffle…….shuffle…….
Lop chop lop snap
Sweet taste of salt sweat.
Lopped to ground stumps
where something, maybe forgiveness, lay.
A faint, dusty whisper of a last shuffle.
That June fragrance of magenta roses filled the air, and what an abundant spread! Proper showing off they were, and they bloomed throughout that long, luxurious summer.
Fiona Thomson
Kent
Fiona Thomson
Kent
FebulousFebruary 2025: Lost and Found 
Comments on: "Day twenty three" (2)
^This is just wonderful Fiona. Such skill with words. x
‘Dusty brogues and sweet salt sweat’ brilliant description I can see and feel the presence now and the rebellion of the bloom!